


I’m Not Entirely Here

by Underthenarniansun



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Drarry, M/M, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Panic Attacks, Past Rape/Non-con, Physical Abuse, Platonic Male/Male Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-02-28 14:19:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18758158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Underthenarniansun/pseuds/Underthenarniansun
Summary: Draco never knew how badly he had been abused. Not until something triggered his memory.An exploration of how Draco recovers from severe trauma.(more chapters will appear as my recovery continues)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello my dears! there’s a few trigger warnings that i would really appreciate you listening to! 
> 
> there is:  
> -non-graphic physical abuse  
> -non-graphic sexual assault  
> -anxiety attacks
> 
> if any of those would trigger you, please please please don’t read this! take care of yourself xx
> 
> (also, this is loosely based off of something that i went through, obviously not the magical parts though)

Draco had learned early on to follow the rules. 

Otherwise, there would be consequences. 

Sometimes, even if he was following the rules, there were still consequences. 

He didn’t understand that this wasn’t normal. That most children’s fathers didn’t beat them for anything slightly out of line. He hadn’t gone to school before Hogwarts, anyways. Most of his socializing was at family events or with his tutor and he didn’t talk about home in either situations. 

He didn’t talk about it at Hogwarts either. He didn’t see how it mattered. 

After all, if it weren’t unusual, why bring it up?

So no one knew that Draco was abused at home, not for years.

Something changed in Draco Third Year though. 

Suddenly, he was even more prejudiced. Crueler, more distant. He refused to let anyone touch him. 

His Slytherin friends didn’t question it and he didn’t talk to many people outside of his House, so it went unnoticed. 

Draco stayed distant and angry and otherwise unemotive for years, until the stress of Sixth Year started to get to him.

All the pressure, the expectations, the responsibilities, started to affect him. 

Some people noticed. 

He tried his best to hide it, to remain blank and expressionless and as haughty as people expected him to be. But he was cracking. 

Winter Break, he was Marked. 

It destroyed him. 

When he got back to school, he refused to come out of his dorm for a week except for class. He didn’t even eat. Crabbe and Goyle left him alone after he yelled at them once, but Blaise Zabini wouldn’t. 

“Draco.” He said one day, the seventh day of his isolation, “You can’t tell me nothing is wrong. I know you. Talk to me.”

“I can’t, Blaise.” Draco said, “Please, just. Just leave me alone.”

“Afraid I can’t do that, Malfoy.” Blaise said, sitting on Draco’s bed. Draco automatically flinched away from him, but he didn’t know why. 

“Dray,” Blaise began, a pained look on his face, “Just tell me what’s going on.”

Draco looked at him, a terribly vulnerable and practically tortured look on his face, but in seconds, it was gone, replaced with an emotionless expression. 

“Nothing. I’m fine.” 

“You’re lying to me. You wouldn’t be like this if nothing was wrong, you wouldn’t be hiding. Just talk to me.”

“I don’t even know what’s wrong!” Draco yelled. Then he took a deep breath and in a calmer voice said, “I mean, I know some of why I feel like this, but I can tell there’s more and I can’t fucking remember.” Again, his agitation crept into his voice. 

He curled in on himself, running his hands over his face and leaving them there. 

“Dray,” Blaise said, reaching out to move Draco’s hands away from his face. 

At his touch, Draco tensed. “Please, don’t! Please! No! Please, I’m sorry please don’t!” His breathing became shallow and fast. He curled up tighter. 

Blaise pulled away immediately, standing up and moving a few feet away from Draco’s bed. 

“Dray, it’s okay, you’re safe. No one’s going to hurt you.” Blaise said, cautiously, becoming even more overwhelmed with concern for his friend. 

Draco was rocking back and forth, whispering to himself and making a strange noise that Blaise soon registered was sobbing. 

Blaise didn’t know what to do. Draco, who hardly ever showed emotions, was falling apart right in front of him. 

At a loss of what else to do, Blaise pointed his wand at Draco and whispered, “Dormus.” And Draco fell asleep. 

He was still curled up, but his muscles had relaxed. He was no longer sobbing, but tears were still escaping from his closed eyes. 

Blaise had no idea what to do, but he went with his best idea. Since Snape definitely wasn’t the right person to go to with this, he very quickly made his way to the Hospital Wing, grateful that classes were occurring and that he wouldn’t be running into anyone in the hallway. 

He burst into the Hospital Wing to find Madame Pomfrey restocking some healing potions. 

“Madame Pomfrey! There’s something wrong with Draco!” Blaise said urgently. 

“Where is he?” Poppy asked, sensing the urgency and realizing that this might be time-sensitive. 

“Our dorm.”

“Lead the way, Mr. Zabini.” She replied. 

They walked silently, but quickly. What had been a three minute walk to the Slytherin Common Room for Blaise ended up being a barely two minute walk for Madame Pomfrey. That woman was fast when she was on a mission. 

They ascended the stairs to the dorm where Draco was still asleep in his bed. However, he was twitching and muttering something incoherent. 

“He’s asleep?” Madame Pomfrey asked. 

Blaise rubbed the back of his neck and guiltily said, “I charmed him asleep. He was- I don’t even know.” He tried to explain what had happened. Madame Pomfrey’s eyebrows shot up. 

“Oh my poor dear.” She said to herself, but loudly enough that Blaise managed to hear her. 

“Is he going to be okay?” Blaise asked, panic laced in his voice. 

“He should be. I’m going to take him to the Hospital Wing.” She said, casting a quick Mobilicorpus, causing Draco’s body to levitate out of his bed. The boy made little acknowledgement of the disturbance. 

Blaise watched, feeling helpless as Madame Pomfrey magically carried his friend to the Hospital Wing. 

Draco returned later that night. He was quiet, but less so than he had been before. He started going to meals. He tried out for Quidditch again. (And made the team, of course.)

Blaise watched him closely though, and he saw how much Draco was faking it. 

 

Draco was one of the two Slytherins who came back to Hogwarts after the war. All the Eighth Year students had been allowed to pick one person they would definitely live with, and then they would be with another pair. 

Obviously, Draco and Blaise picked each other. 

This was to be expected. 

What was not to be expected, however, was the fact that their other two roommates were Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. 

Draco was not mad. He was resigned. He was tired. He knew he had done horrible things during the war. But he didn’t want to be that person anymore. And he wouldn’t have blamed Potter and Weasley if they hated him. But they didn’t. 

When the four of them had gotten to their new room, they all looked at each other. Two Slytherins and two Gryffindors. After a minute, Harry stepped forward and held out a hand. 

“I’m glad you’re back.” He said, shaking both Draco and Blaise’s hands. 

Draco and Blaise looked at each other, the same skeptical expression on their faces, but they said nothing. 

And the living situation worked well. Blaise was all the way to the right, as he wanted to be by the window. Draco was next to him, then Harry, then Ron. 

The four of them had been uncomfortable around each other at first, but within a week or two had found an easy rhythm. They wouldn’t go so far as to call them friends, but they certainly were friendly, often partnering up in classes and studying together and sitting next to each other at the Eighth Year student table in the Dining Hall. 

Everything was going fairly well, until one day, their new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher decided to tackle a newly discovered curse. 

Talia Javans was a force to be reckoned with. She was bold and took no shit from her students. They probably wouldn’t have liked her half as much as they did if it weren’t for the fact that this woman absolutely knew what she was doing. 

She was in her late 30’s or perhaps early 40’s. A tall woman whose presence was intimidating to say the least, so much so that it could rival McGonagall, although no one would dare tell either woman that. The students had little idea of what she had done during the war, just that she had been in Germany, attempting to keep Voldemort from recruiting there. 

And so, an afternoon a mere month into the school year, Professor Javans did something that would change Draco Malfoy forever. 

“There’s been a new spell rediscovered in Germany. The German Death Eaters were using it to recruit. It’s similar to the effects of a Boggart, but instead of seeing your worst fear, it forces you to relive your worst memory, disabling you whereas your enemy can whatever they wish; disarm you, attack those you’re protecting, use Imperio without worrying about a fight. It is very dangerous. However, if you know the countercurse, which I am about to teach you, you may be released from the memory.” Javans said. 

“I promise that no one but you will relive your memory. It will be solely in your mind. I’ll warn you though, it will be intense. Many of you may see the war. But this peace we’ve achieved may be temporary and I know that those who served Voldemort-,” a few tensed at his name, “And were not detained would be all too happy to use this on you.”

At the idea that this prejudice-fueled war was not yet over, the mood in the room darkened significantly. 

“The hardest part of battling this is realizing that it’s just a memory. That’s something I can’t teach you. The fact that you’ll remember it from when it happened should spark enough deja vu to get you to recognize that it’s not real. The countercurse is simple. You don’t even need a wand for it, you say ‘Fortius’ and the memory should end.”

Javans looked at all her students. There weren’t many of them. Maybe fifteen. She knew this was important to teach them, that it was a part of her job, but she knew that this bunch would have a significantly harder time than any from before the war would have. 

Their looks varied. From terrified to determined to just confused. 

“Who would like to go first?” She asked. 

Surprising to literally no one, Harry stepped forward. 

Javans nodded at him. “On the count of three, I’ll cast the curse. Do you remember the countercurse?” She asked. 

“Fortius.” He said, his voice sure for someone who was about to relive his worst fear. 

“Excellent. Now, one... two... three! Medo!” She incanted. 

Immediately, Harry’s entire body tensed. 

Hermione Granger made an indignent noise, but Ron put a hand on her shoulder, “Harry can handle this.” He murmured to her, and she stayed put, the concern on her face not leaving though. 

Harry stood in the middle of the room for a minute, his fists clenching and unclenching. No one could see his face, except for Professor Javans, who had a patient look on her face. 

Finally, Harry shouted “Fortius!” 

The class held their breath as Harry turned around, eyes wild, clearly panicked. He locked eyes with Hermione, then Ron, then, inexplicably, Draco, and slowly relaxed. 

“Good job, Mr. Potter.” Professor Javans said. “Who’s next?”

The remaining Gryffindors went, first Seamus, then Hermione, then Ron, then Neville, then Dean. 

After them, Draco took a deep breath and volunteered himself. 

Javans smiled at him, “Alright Mr. Malfoy. On the count of three?” When Draco nodded, she began counting, and as she said the spell, he felt like he was falling backwards. 

Suddenly, he was in a bathroom in the Malfoy Manor. The only thing he felt was fear. 

His father stood over him, Draco was only 13, so not nearly as tall as the other man. 

“Father.” Draco pleaded, not sure what he was protesting. 

Lucius roughly pushed Draco into the nearby bathtub. Draco felt his pulse rate increase, his chest tighten. 

“Dad! Please, please don’t I’m sorry! Please!” He protested, as his father pulled his robes up over his waist. 

“Please, don’t! Please! No! Please, I’m sorry please don’t!” Draco was pleading, a terrible part of him beginning to understand what was happening. 

As his father began undoing his pants, his struggling increased. 

He was begging at this point, thrashing, crying. 

Just as his father was entirely removing his pants, Draco hit his head, hard, on the side of the porcelain tub, and the world faded to black. 

He woke in his classroom, on the ground, his classmates and Professor Javans gathered around him. 

Of all people, Harry kneeled down, reaching a hand out to Draco, “Draco-“ He began. 

Draco sat up quickly, “Don’t fucking touch me!” He shouted. Everyone moved back, startled. Harry looked confused, but Blaise touched his shoulder, pulling him up and murmuring something to him. 

Harry didn’t look very reassured, his eyes not straying from Draco. 

Draco was looking around, panic clear in his eyes. His breaths were uneven and labored. 

Within seconds, he was on his feet and out the door, leaving everyone stunned. 

Professor Javans watched him leave, feeling guilty for having brought this spell up, but knowing that it would be extremely useful to these children- no, these adults, who were walking into a world that had not quite settled down yet. 

Harry and Blaise looked at each other and, without a word, sprinted after Draco. 

They both looked around the hallway, but the blond was out of sight. 

“Shit!” Blaise said. 

“Hold on,” Harry told him, “I, well, I have something we can use.” He pulled a piece of parchment out of his pocket. 

Blaise looked at him like he was crazy. What could an old, blank piece of parchment do to help in this situation. 

But then, Harry muttered “I solemnly swear I am up to no good.” And ink appeared on the paper 

Before Blaise’s eyes, a map of Hogwarts spread out before him. He stood, somewhat in shock, just staring at it, until Harry spotted something. 

“He’s headed to the astronomy tower.” He told Blaise. 

Without a word, Blaise took off, walking quickly. Harry was pretty tall, about 6”, but Blaise was taller by about three inches and his legs were long, so Harry had to rush a bit to keep up. 

When they finally reached the tower, they ran up the stairs, taking them three at a time. 

They found Draco fairly quickly. He was a bit to the side of the door, curled up in a ball, his head tucked into his knees. 

“Dray,” Blaise said gently. “Dray, I’m not going to touch you, I’m just going to sit next to you, okay?”

Draco didn’t show any acknowledgment, so, slowly, Blaise approached and sat next to him, giving Draco enough space so that there was still room between them. 

Harry, quite unsure of what to do, sat on Draco’s other side, leaving room between them as well. 

“Draco,” Harry said softly, “It was the memory, wasn’t it?”

Draco didn’t react. 

“Would it help to know what mine was?” Harry asked. 

Draco said nothing. Harry looked at Blaise, who shrugging and made a ‘go ahead’ motion. 

“Do you remember that time in Sixth Year when we had that fight in the bathroom and I really hurt you? That’s my worst memory. People have gotten hurt because of me before, but never directly because of something I’ve done. I hurt you. And I hated myself for a long time for it, still do. I never meant to hurt you, I promise.”

“Draco, please say something.” Blaise pleaded. 

Draco made no movements, except a continued shaking. He made no sound. It was as if he couldn’t hear them. 

“What do we do?” Blaise asked. 

“I think- I think he’s having a panic attack.” Harry said, realizing what was happening. 

Having had a few himself, he somewhat knew what to do. 

“Has he had one before?” Harry asked. 

“I think so. Sixth Year.” Blaise said. 

“What’d you do then?”

“Got Madame Pomfrey.” Blaise told him. 

“I think I might be able to handle this without her.” Harry said, sounding semi-confident. “He doesn’t like being touched, right?”

“Yeah, that’s a big no-no.”

“Gotcha. Does he have a favorite smell?”

“What?” Blaise asked, not seeing how that was relevant. 

“Trust me. Favorite smell? Citrus? Eucalyptus? Floral?” Harry asked again. 

“Uh, probably floral, the big poof.” Blaise said, then looked a bit ashamed as he wasn’t sure if Harry knew. 

Harry made no acknowledgment of Blaise outing his friend, he simply did a small movement with his hands and said “olaran”. 

Blaise could faintly smell lavender, as he continued breathing, the smell got stronger. 

Draco made a little gasping noise and his head shot up. 

“What?” He choked out, coughing a bit. 

“Hey Malfoy, glad to have you back.” Harry said, smiling at Draco. 

“I’m at Hogwarts?” Draco asked, sounded panicked. 

“Yes.” Blaise told him. 

“And- and my father?”

“He’s in Azkaban.” Harry replied. 

Draco looked relieved. He unfurled from the position he had been curled up in, beginning to take deeper breaths.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Blaise asked. 

“I- I don’t know. I don’t know how I forgot... that.” His face took on a pained look. “I wish I hadn’t remembered.” He whispered. 

Draco clearly didn’t want to talk about it anymore, so they let it be. It was time for dinner anyways. 

Draco went back to the Eighth Year Common Room. No one was there, so he just began pacing. 

And that’s how Harry and Blaise found him, pacing in the Common Room, his expression distant, but his hands shaking. 

“Draco,” Harry said, “Draco, hey. Hey, it’s me. Harry. And Blaise.”

Draco looked at the two briefly and stopped pacing, his hands still shaking. 

“How’re you doing?” Blaise asked him. 

“I don’t know.” Draco answered, because he didn’t. 

“Do you wanna turn in early tonight?” Blaise suggested. 

“What time is it?” Draco asked. 

“About 8:30.” Blaise told him. 

Draco stared out the window for a second, looking lost in thought, then he shivered and looked back at Blaise and Harry. “I guess so.”

The three of them went up to their room. Draco announced he was going to take a shower. He took nearly a half an hour and if Harry and Blaise heard sobbing, well, they weren’t going to say anything about it. 

When Draco emerged, hair wet and wearing his pajamas, he avoided eye contact with his roommates. He went straight to his bed, closing the curtains right away. 

Harry and Blaise looked at each other, not sure what to do, then, Blaise shrugged, and went to go shower. Harry changed out of his robes and settled in to sleep. 

 

Harry didn’t know what time it was when he was woken up. 

He was woken up by Draco. By Draco talking in his sleep. 

“No, please no! Dad, please!” Draco was sobbing and thrashing around a lot. 

Harry sat up quickly, he looked at Blaise’s bed and cursed Merlin that he was a heavy sleeper. 

Harry walked over to Draco’s bed, unsure of what to do, knowing that Draco didn’t like being touched. 

“Draco.” He said. “Draco, it’s just a dream. You’re safe.”

Draco didn’t seem to wake at all, he was no longer yelling, but he was still thrashing around. 

“Draco!” Harry said louder. “Fuck it.” He said, when Draco didn’t rouse. 

Very carefully, Harry touched Draco’s shoulder. Immediately, Draco bolted up, gasping and looking around the room, looking like a cornered animal. 

His eyes settled on Harry and he relaxed minusculey.

“You’re safe.” Harry reassured him. 

Draco took a deep breath. “Can you- this is weird, but can you just hold me for a while?” He was blushing a bit. 

“It’s okay that I touch you?” Harry asked, just to make sure. 

Draco paused for a minute, then nodded. He scooted over a bit in his bed and Harry sat next to him, putting his arm around Draco, who tensed at first and then relaxed, leaning into the touch. 

He was shaking a little and when Harry looked at his face, he saw that he was crying a bit. 

Harry gently rubbed Draco’s arm, allowing him to rest his head on Harry’s shoulder. 

Draco seemed to be calming down a bit. 

“You should try to go back to sleep.” Harry said. 

“I should, but- can you stay with me?” Draco asked, unsure. 

“As long as you don’t hog the covers.” Harry said, smiling. 

So the two of them moved so they were both laying down under the blanket, Harry with his arm around Draco and Draco using Harry’s chest as a pillow. 

That night, Draco had no more nightmares. 

It became a habit, Harry sleeping with Draco. Draco wasn’t entirely cured of nightmares, not even close, but, in a way, it helped him to wake up in someone’s arms, someone he knew was safe. 

Harry never pressed Draco to talk about it with him, but did suggest he go to a Mind Healer. So, once a week, after classes, Draco would leave the castle and talk about things. And slowly, very, very slowly, it started to get better. 

He would never be entirely better, he knew that and the people who loved him knew that, but he would let people touch him, he rarely had flashbacks and nightmares, and he even let himself trust someone enough to fall in love.


	2. June 5th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco gets an unsettling letter on his birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, slightly inspired by my experience, only I don’t have a Harry.

Draco and Harry had grown closer throughout Eighth Year. Neither was willing to say it, but they had certainly developed feelings for each other. 

Draco had nightmares often. He would find himself bolting awake, sometimes several times a night and, somehow, Harry always knew. After the first time, Draco would find Harry parting the curtains around his bed, silently raising an eyebrow. 

Draco always nodded, lifting the blanket and moving over, allowing Harry to lay next to him and take him into his arms. 

The next time, or times, he would wake up, he would immediately feel reassured to find himself next to Harry, safe in his embrace, grounded. 

Draco needed to talk about it sometimes, depending on the intensity of the dream, and Harry, regardless of the time, would go with Draco to the Eighth Year Common Room, drape a blanket around him, and hold his hand while Draco tried to process it. Never resentful, never judgmental.

When Draco first shared the whole story with him, Harry was outraged at what had happened to him, but not at Draco, never at Draco. There was no pity, which Draco had been afraid of. Simply empathy. Understanding. Validation  
and comforting. 

There had been many mornings where they had been rudely awakened, by usually Ron or Blaise, as they had fallen asleep on the couch closest to the fireplace, laying somewhat on top of each other. 

All of the Eighth Years knew how they felt. Most of the other students did too, those who paid half attention anyways. But Harry and Draco remained oblivious to each other’s feelings. 

This routine stayed, them spending most of their time together, through the good and the bad, throughout Eighth Year. 

Then, they were graduating. 

The Aurors had wanted Harry, of course, but Harry had battled evil for long enough. 

Instead, he became a Healer at St. Mungo’s.

Draco didn’t know what to do. He had been a Death Eater. He figured no one would want to hire him. 

So instead of applying for a job, he became his own boss. He started a bookstore in Diagon Alley. One for non-educational reading, unlike Flourish and Blotts. There were mostly Muggle books, which quickly became a novelty amongst the wizards.

Things were going well, they both thought. They spent a lot of time together still, when they weren’t working. Harry got his own flat in Muggle London and Draco was renting a little place near his shop. 

Draco would sometimes Floo Harry on particularly hard nights and one or the other would go to the others’ house. Harry never minded. 

It was casual, their relationship. They both wanted more, were right on the edge of being more, but they still hesitated. 

So they were stuck with lingering touches and cuddling on rough nights and blushing and sending owls throughout the day like children passing notes in school and spending a good part of their spare time with each other and pining and pining and pining.

Neither was quite happy being just friends, but they both thought it was what the other wanted, so neither dared to make any move towards making it anything more. 

Then came June 5th. 

It was his birthday and Draco was turning 19. The day started off alright. He went to his shop, not minding working on his birthday as it was a Saturday, and they closed early on weekends.

By three, he was home. He had a sizable pile of mail to look through, mostly birthday wishes. 

He figured he would look through them quickly, then get dressed to go to Harry’s. 

He stood at the counter in his tiny kitchen and smiled again and again at the kind letters from Pansy and Blaise and Ron and Hermione and, of course, Harry. But he didn’t smile at the last letter. 

It was unmarked on the outside, so Draco had to open it before he knew who it was. 

He immediately recognized the handwriting. 

“Draco, my darling son...” It read. 

Draco froze. Besides his hands shaking, he didn’t move. His breathing picked up as did his heart rate. 

For a minute or so, he just stared at the letter. The letter his father had sent him. 

His vision became clouded and he realized he was crying. He took a gasping breath and sank to the floor, curling in on himself, still clutching the letter in one hand. 

 

It was 4 and Draco wasn’t there. Not that he was technically late, but Draco was always early. 

Always early. 

Something was wrong. 

Quarter past 4, Harry Floo’d over. 

“Draco?” He called out, greeted only by silence. 

Except it wasn’t total silence. There was some noise. Some noise that Harry couldn’t quite identify. From the next room, he thought.

Quickly heading away from the fireplace, Harry burst into Draco’s kitchen. His panic not fading when he saw Draco. 

It was like Eighth Year all over again. 

He could hear Draco’s ragged breathing and quiet sobbing, he was curled in on himself, shaking, his entire body tense. 

Harry immediately went to him. 

“Draco,” he said softly as he sat down beside him, “Dray, it’s Harry. You’re safe.”

Draco made no movement or sign that he heard him. 

Just then, Harry noticed the crumpled paper in his hand. Gently, he extracted it from Draco’s grasp and unfolded it. 

Harry scanned it quickly and suddenly understood. 

It was a letter from Lucius Malfoy. 

“Draco, he’s not here. He can’t hurt you, I promise.” Harry said, carefully putting a hand on Draco’s back and rubbing circles, like he often did after nightmares. 

He kept murmuring reassurances, just sitting with him for a few minutes.

After a while, Draco’s breathing slowed. His body relaxed minutely. 

“Harry?” Came his muffled voice, as he had stayed curled up. 

“It’s me. I’ve got you, Dray.”

Draco sniffed, looked up for a second, and jumped forward, wrapping his arms around Harry and burying his head in the crook of his neck. 

Harry’s arms immediately circled around him, rubbing his back in a way that he hoped was soothing. 

“He sent me a letter.” Draco whispered. 

“I know.” Harry said. 

“He called me “his”. Like I’m still his property. Like he fucking owns me still.” Draco was still shaking and his grip on Harry tightened. 

“He never owned you, Dray.” Harry told him. “You’re safe. He’s in Azkaban.”

“You were planning on taking me out to dinner, weren’t you?” Draco asked, after being silent for a minute.

Harry smiled, “So much for that surprise. Yeah, I can cancel the reservation if you want though.”

Draco nodded. 

“Do you want takeout? We can say here or go to mine?”

“Yours please. I know he can’t, but, the letter got to me and, just, what if he can too?” Draco said. 

“My place is fine. You can stay the night too.”

“Thank you.” Draco said. 

“Of course.” Harry replied. 

“I love you.” Draco said quietly. 

Harry pulled away slightly, looking Draco in the eyes, “Really?”

“I- yeah. Yeah, really.” Draco’s face was still tear stained, his expression soon shifting to uncertainty.

“I love you too.” Harry told him, not breaking the eye contact. 

Draco’s eyes widened, and then Harry brought a hand up to cup his face. 

“Can I...?”

“God yes.” Draco whispered, answering the question Harry was almost too scared to ask. 

And so Harry leaned in and kissed him. A soft, sweet kiss, although it took both their breaths away nonetheless. 

Draco hesitantly locked their fingers together. Harry took his hand and squeezed lightly, smiling down at him. 

“How’s Chinese sound?”

“Pardon?”

“For takeout.” 

“Oh. Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good.”

The two Floo’d back to Harry’s, Harry calling to order the food and leaving Draco to pick out the movie. 

The rest of the night consisted of Chinese takeout, the Princess Bride, a lot of cuddling, and a restless night for Draco, made better by the man he was in love with, who loved him back, being next to him. 

His father’s words stayed in his mind, but Harry’s words were there too, helping him combat the fear. 

The next morning, Draco woke to Harry’s lips on his forehead and a simple “Breakfast?” That both of them knew also meant, “I love you.”

They were both off from work, so they spent the day together. Superficially, not much was different. But every time their hands brushed, there was this new understanding that the electricity was mutual. They suddenly felt so much more comfortable with their physical proximities, no longer feeling guilty, knowing that they both felt the same. 

And, of course, Draco finally got to kiss Harry, like he’d wanted to for ages. 

Harry let him take the lead, not wanting to push him, so it remained innocent, but Harry was okay with that. 

Harry didn’t need Draco to have sex with him, he needed him to love him. 

And he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Might be more! There won’t be cliff hangers though, so you can theoretically stop at any chapter you want to, but I’m hoping when there’s a new one, you’ll read it anyways. 
> 
> You can always find me on tumblr at underthenarniansun :)

**Author's Note:**

> take care of yourselves. my tumblr is underthenarniansun if you want to talk xx


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